


It's Called A Bustle

by imaginary_golux



Category: Tarzan (1999)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-29
Updated: 2011-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-25 01:52:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarzan learns the words for clothes.  Written for Porn Battle X.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Called A Bustle

Tarzan is learning the English words for clothes, slowly and rather piecemeal.

"Gloves," Jane tells him, when he returns the strange hand-covers that the baboons stole from her, pulling them on over her beautiful hands. Tarzan suddenly wishes he had left the gloves with the baboons. He likes her hands bare and elegant in the sunlight.

"Hat," Jane tells him when he retrieves the odd thing from a tree. She pulls her hair up into a proper bun again and settles the hat over it. Tarzan wants to throw the hat away again, pull down her hair, and run his hands through it over and over again. It looks soft.

"Bustle," she tells him when he trips and the strange protuberance on the back of her dress is hard and uncomfortable under his hand. He wonders what on earth a 'bustle' is good for, and thinks that she is much prettier without it when she takes it off for the night. He never tells her he watches while she undresses - and he always goes away before she takes off the underdress, because it feels wrong. She looks so nervous that someone might see.

"Corsets," Jane tells him, when he finds the weird bony carapaces hung on the washing line. He examines the lacing and tries one on, but it does not fit at all, and Jane and Terk both laugh at him. He decides corsets are stupid.

 

"Gloves," he tells her, as he pulls them gently off of her hands and lays them aside, turning back to lavish kisses on her soft, lovely hands. Jane watches wide-eyed as he traces the lines on her palms with his tongue, and squeaks when he bites her left thumb, very gently.

"Hat," he continues, putting it on top of the gloves and undoing her bun. Her hair is as soft as he had imagined, and she leans against his hands when he strokes it. He spends a long time on her glorious hair.

"Bustle," he murmurs, and tosses it to the ground, sliding his hands over the curve of her hips and grinning when she shivers. She is warm and sleek and lovely beneath his hands.

"Corsets," he whispers as he unlaces them carefully. He'd stolen one and practiced on it, so he could do this right. She shivers and leans back against him as he pushes the corsets to the ground and stares down at her, clad only in an underdress, pale and beautiful.

"Jane," he finishes, kissing her again and again as he urges her back onto the bed, pushing her underdress off over her head and drinking in the sight of his beloved sprawled out, the proper Englishwoman gone completely, only his Jane left, smiling up at him. Now he can finally see all of her: high, glorious breasts, long slim waist, curving hips and long, lean, wonderful legs. Now he can touch all of her, running calloused hands over every inch of her skin as she arches into his touch and trails her own fingers over his shoulders, arms, chest, down to the bulge in his loincloth that aches so with wanting her.

He moans when she touches him there, and falls forward, catching himself on his elbows, to kiss her. Her fingers fumble for a minute, and then his loincloth falls away, and there is nothing between them at all, and he has never been so happy. A moment later, as she spreads her legs and invites him into her, he revises that estimate: _now_ he has never been happier. His woman - his mate - his Jane is beneath him, surrounding him, arching up against him and crying out in pleasure, and he cannot stop moving, thrusting against her, kissing her again and again and again until the world falls away.

In the morning he throws the corsets, bustle, hat, and gloves out of the tent, and revels in the sight of Jane wearing nothing but an underdress as she goes about the camp.


End file.
